


Everything Tainted

by fuzipenguin



Series: Pettiness and Consequences [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Confrontations, Dubious Consent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, mama bear Ratchet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Ratchet immediately knows something is wrong.





	Everything Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> This is from Ratchet's POV as the twins' stand-in parent, so I find it pretty painful and emotional. Just a heads up.

                “That it, doc?” Sideswipe asked, pedes swinging. His arms were braced on the edge of the exam table as if he were about to jump off and without looking, Ratchet reached out and gripped Sideswipe’s knee to keep him there.

                It was something he’d done a thousand times before; both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were prone to running off from routine exams the first chance they got. Ratchet had to be alert and fast enough to yank them back before they got out of reach.

                It was a familiar dance so there was no reason at all for Sideswipe to stiffen and then slowly recoil away.

                Ratchet looked up at him askance, tossing the tube of clotting coolant to the side. “What? That hurt? And no, I’m not done.”

                “You said that was all of the samples you needed,” Sideswipe accused, narrowing his optics.

                “I did say that, but I did _not_ say that I was finished with you. Seriously… does your knee hurt? Your left is the bad one. Don’t frag this one up too,” Ratchet warned, squeezing lightly.

                Sideswipe practically jumped out of his plating. He twisted out from under Ratchet’s grip and leapt off the table, looking at him wide-opticked.

                “I gotta go,” he said, starting to back away.

                “What? No, you don’t… get back here,” Ratchet said, exasperated. He lunged forward and grabbed Sideswipe by the elbow. Sideswipe jerked back and Ratchet stumbled forward off balance. His  weight slammed Sideswipe’s dorsal surface into the wall by the door.

                “ _Primus_ , Sideswipe, what is _with_ you today?” Ratchet exclaimed, untangling himself from the other mech. He pulled on Sideswipe’s forearm. “At least let me look at your knee if it’s bothering you. Get back on the berth.”

                “No! Ratchet, let me go. Please!” Sideswipe said. His voice was shrill as he pulled against Ratchet’s tug. Utterly surprised by the plea, Ratchet released the other mech. He stared at him in confusion. Then he registered the raspy vents, the look of badly masked fear on Sideswipe’s face.

                “Sideswipe… Sides, what’s going on?” Ratchet said slowly. He held his arms up and took several steps backwards, recognizing a mech on the verge of panic. And Sideswipe had the potential to be very dangerous when panicked.

                “ _No_. This time I’m saying ‘no’,” Sideswipe said, enunciating every word quite clearly. It only emphasized the quaver in his voice.

                Ratchet just blinked at him for a second before the words really sank in. “… ‘this time’? What do you mean _‘this time’?!”_

                Sideswipe pressed his lips together and gave a short shake of his head. He averted his gaze and slid a few inches to the side, closer to the door.

                “Can I go?” he asked, practically vibrating in place.

                “Sideswipe… I would really rather you told me what’s going on,” Ratchet said empathically. Every molecule of his being screamed at him that something was very, very wrong here. It was instinctive to try and help, to soothe. He took a reflexive step forward, and Sideswipe stiffened, plastering himself against the wall in an attempt to get as far away as possible from Ratchet. It was utterly perplexing as Ratchet was one of the few mechs Sideswipe was truly comfortable around.

                “Is that an order, _sir?”_ Sideswipe spat, voice hard in a way Ratchet hadn’t heard directed towards him in millennia. He’d also never called Ratchet ‘sir’, even early on. Ratchet’s mouth dropped open and his processor ground to a halt.

                “…what? Sideswipe… did somebody… _do_ something to you? Did an _officer?_ ” Ratchet demanded, frame going cold. It was the only thing he could think of in the face of a sudden hate towards Ratchet’s rank and the emphasis on clearly stating ‘no’.

                Sideswipe shook his head again and stared longingly at the door. His ventilations picked up speed, his chest starting to heave in an attempt to dispel built up heat.

                “Sides, I just want to help… you know I’d never hurt you… you know that, don’t you?” Ratchet asked desperately. His spark felt like it was breaking. The twins had been half-feral when the Autobots had found them. Ratchet had been there from the start, advocating for them every step of the way. He’d watched them grow into confident mechs and what Sideswipe was looking like right now spoke more to their beginnings then present day.

                “I don’t know… I don’t know anything anymore,” Sideswipe said quietly, voice verging on a whimper. “But I’d believe you more if you let me go.”

                Ratchet didn’t even have to think about it. Something had shaken Sideswipe’s trust in him and Ratchet would need it in the future to get to the bottom of this.

                “Go. You know where I am if you need me.”

                Sideswipe glanced at him, his expression looking as if he were warring with himself. Then he darted through the doorway, disappearing from sight within seconds. Ratchet stumbled back until he hit the edge of the berth. Leaning heavily against it, he opened up the officers’ communication channel.

                **Emergency meeting. One hour in the conference room.**

 

\--

 

                Ratchet stalked into the conference room to find all the senior members of Command already present. Not that he was late. No, he suspected that everyone had come a little early because Ratchet never called emergency meetings. He hated meetings. For Ratchet to demand one meant that some serious slag was going down.

                He shut the door behind him, locking it. Then he turned and nodded at the room at large before plopping down in his seat next to Wheeljack. His best friend gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t do anything other than move his leg to the side, his knee pressing up against Ratchet’s in a reassuring display of wordless support.

                “Alright, what’s goin’ on?” Ironhide demanded once Ratchet had settled. “I was in the middle of a drill.”

                Well, no use delaying it.

                “Something happened to the twins. Or at least to Sideswipe. I had him in for a routine appointment an hour ago and he was acting completely out of character. Belligerent… frightened,” Ratchet said. Next to him, Wheeljack made a small noise of surprise. “Have any of you noticed anything?”

                “Do you think he’s been compromised?” Red Alert inquired immediately, leaning forward with burning optics. “Maybe that stunt in the hall a few days ago was meant to be a distraction?”

                “What? No!” Ratchet spluttered, outraged on the twins’ behalf. They’d been tortured by Megatron himself and had come out of it with a grin and not a single piece of important information spilled. “Wait… what stunt?”

                “Sunstreaker has been much more confrontational than normal,” Prowl noted, his voice soft as he considered Ratchet’s concern. “He can be moody however, so I hadn’t thought much of it. And now that you mention it, Sideswipe has been completely off my radar as of late.”

                Ironhide grunted, sinking back in his chair and looking thoughtful. “Sunstreaker nearly took my head off during trainin’ yesterday. Physically, I mean… he threw a punch when I told him to stop tearin’ up the drones. Lately, he objects to every order I give him, or ignores them. Just thought he was in a mood, like you did, Prowl.”

                Prowl turned and looked up at Ironhide, who was technically the twins’ direct commanding officer. “And Sideswipe?” he asked, frowning.

                Ironhide bit his lower lip as he glanced over at Ratchet. “… I’ve barely noticed him, to be honest. He’s been quiet. Sunny’s kinda been taking up all my attention.”

                Ratchet furrowed his forehelm at that bit of information. The twins had done that before. One of them would act up to keep the focus on them instead of their brother. It could be that and that alone. Or maybe Sunstreaker was reluctant to obey orders, because another order none of them were aware of had resulted in harm to his twin. 

                “You mention that Sideswipe was scared…” Optimus mused in the ensuing silence. “After the last battle, I told Sideswipe he had done a good job and clapped him on the shoulder. He flinched away from me. I thought he had been injured but…”

                Ratchet’s spark skipped a rotation. The twins practically worshiped the ground Optimus walked on. They leaned into every one of Optimus’ rare touches, even Sunstreaker. It was adorable.

                “Ratchet? You know them best. What do you think happened?” Wheeljack asked gently. He leaned forward and peered into Ratchet’s face, searching it for clues.

Ratchet in-vented, holding the air for a long moment before releasing it. “I think… I think someone of rank forced Sideswipe.”

                “Forced Sideswipe to do what?” Red Alert asked innocently.

                For a long, drawn out second, there was nothing but complete silence. Then the room erupted into a cacophony of sound. Expressions of shock, denial, and outrage rang out through the room, and in the din, it was easy for Ratchet to notice someone wasn’t saying a word. Someone who normally had a lot to say.

                Ratchet rapped his knuckles onto the table, everyone slowly quieting at the loud sound. “Jazz? Jazz, do you know something? Did you see something?” he demanded, staring at Jazz’s dimmed visor. Maybe Ratchet should have approached Jazz first. If anyone were to know, it would be him. He had a firm check on the pulse of the ship and its occupants, after all.

                One by one, the others’ helms turned to stare at the third in command. Jazz gave a long, drawn out sigh and he absently rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He then leaned forward in his seat and stared down at his lap.

                “I, uh… I think that it was probably me,” he said, his tone heavy. Jazz crossed his arms on the table and hunched his shoulders, staring up at Ratchet in a manner than could only be described as sheepish.

                Ratchet’s jaw dropped for the second time that day. Jazz?! He hadn’t actually thought it had been one of them; one of the junior officers, maybe, but not one of the mechs in Senior Command.

                “What… what do you mean?” Ratchet asked, his vents hitching a little. He still didn’t believe it. Jazz? _Jazz_ had done something to upset Sideswipe and thus his twin? It all must be some kind of misunderstanding.

                “Well… I might have jumped Sides in the hall the other day,” Jazz said, ducking his head and avoiding everyone’s optics. “We had a bit of a frag and… then… I… I left. I made sure he got caught with his spike out so he’d spend the night in the brig.”

                “Is _that_ why my camera was malfunctioning?” Red Alert demanded. “I thought it was Sideswipe, getting off on some perverse fantasy of self-servicing in public!”

                “You… what? Why would you do that?” Ratchet asked, his voice rising in volume. Wheeljack placed a restraining hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, but he absently shrugged it off as he struggled to understand what Jazz was saying.

                “It was kind of a prank, you know?” Jazz said rapidly, shrugging a little. Next to him, Ironhide leaned away, staring at him with a dawning horror. “He’s always embarrassing people; thought he should have a taste of his own medicine. I was torqued; Smokey kicked me out and I probably wasn’t thinking the clearest.”

                “You forced yourself on Sideswipe?” Ratchet asked shrilly. He felt his hands begin to shake but rubbing them over his thighs didn’t help alleviate the tremor.

                “No! No, of course not!” Jazz exclaimed, his head shooting up. His visor glowed a pale blue, a reflection of his optics behind it. “I couldn’t if I had wanted to. If I got the drop on Sideswipe, I could _maybe_ incapacitate him, but I didn’t actually, you know… _jump him_ -jump him.”

                “Jazz… regardless of the outcome of this… prank… did you _ask_ if he wanted to interface?” Prowl inquired. His doorwings were arched high above his head, shivering minutely.

                “Um… no. Later, the twins told me that because I was an officer Sides felt he couldn’t tell me no. I _forget_ I’m an officer half the time, you know that,” Jazz told Prowl, leaning forward earnestly. “So I get it, ok? I get it now, and I’m gonna fix it, I promise. I’m working on it.”

                “You’re going to fix it?” Ratchet growled, slowly rising to his feet, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. A slow and insidious anger began spreading outwards from his spark. “You’re going to _fix it?_ How can you actually fix this?! He _flinched_ , Jazz. He flinched when _Optimus_ touched him… when _I_ touched him!!”

                “Ratchet… Ratchet, calm down,” Wheeljack said softly, hand hovering over Ratchet’s arm. He stood up as well, darting nervous glances between Ratchet and Jazz.

                Ratchet ignored him, too intent on staring Jazz down. Did Jazz no know what he had done?

                “Do you have _any_ idea what they’ve been through? They were _slaves…_ in the _Pits!_ They were _sold_ to their Pit owner when they were barely old enough to be considered younglings!” Ratchet thundered, feeling flushed and shaky.

                Out of the corner of his optic, he saw the stunned looks on everyone else’s faces. None of them besides Ratchet and Wheeljack knew that about the twins. It was personal information that he probably shouldn’t have blurted out, but Jazz needed to understand.

                “How many times did someone take advantage of them and ignore their consent? We’re supposed to be better than that! _You’re_ supposed to be better than that!” Ratchet shouted, thrusting a finger through the air at Jazz. Jazz recoiled as if it had actually made contact.

                “You broke their trust in us as officers… you broke their trust in _me!_ And I _raised_ them once they left that Primus-forsaken place… Jazz, you can’t just wave a hand and fix something like this. You forced one of my… one of my _children_ …” Ratchet trailed off as the implications truly hit him. “…you essentially _raped_ him, and I’m going to fragging _kill_ you for it!”

                Fueled by pure rage, Ratchet launched himself across the table at Jazz. The two of them tumbled to the ground as Jazz’s chair overturned beneath their combined weight. Ratchet’s hands wrapped around Jazz’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could. Jazz was small; he could probably pop his damn head off his shoulders if he used enough force.

                And Ratchet had plenty of strength at this point.

                For a few seconds, no one intervened. Maybe they agreed with Ratchet. Maybe they were just shocked. Regardless, it was plenty of time for Ratchet to squeeze hard enough to short out Jazz’s right optic, and rip open an energon line in the side of his neck.

                Jazz’s talons slashed at Ratchet’s wrists in a panic, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel it when Prowl peeled his fingers back, or when Optimus slid his arms around his middle and pulled upwards. All he felt was rage and hatred and he struggled, pedes kicking and hands straining towards Jazz, engine growling loud enough to rattle his own frame.

 _“I’m going to fragging send you to the slag pit!”_ Ratchet screamed, struggling against Optimus’ grip as he was dragged backwards into a corner of the room. Optimus set Ratchet on his feet once there, but his arms were still secure around Ratchet’s abdomen.

                “Hey, hey, hey,” Wheeljack crooned, popping up into Ratchet’s tunnel vision. His face blocked out the satisfying sight of Jazz lying on the ground in a small pool of his own energon. Ratchet’s lips pulled back from his denta and he tried to look around Wheeljack, glaring hard enough to hopefully set Jazz’s frame on fire. His spark thumped angrily in his chest and a distant part of him marveled over this strut-deep urge to kill. Ratchet had experienced hatred before… but never enough to rip something apart with his bare hands.

                Wheeljack reached up and cradled Ratchet’s cheeks. He turned Ratchet’s helm and made him look into Wheeljack’s kind optics, kept his gaze focused on Wheeljack instead of Jazz. All of a sudden, the anger drained out of Ratchet, leaving him feel empty other than for a deep sadness.

                “He was scared of me, ‘Jack,” Ratchet said brokenly, staring into Wheeljack’s face, willing him to understand. “Sideswipe was scared I was going to order him to… to…”

                “Shhhh…I know. I know,” Wheeljack said, nodding. He stroked over Ratchet’s forehelm, his hand shaking. “But you’re right; they’re practically your kids. Jazz did this to them, not you. They’ll remember that, I promise.”                

                Optimus finally released him, and Wheeljack enfolded Ratchet into his arms. Ratchet clung to him, keening softly. Over Wheeljack’s shoulder, he watched Optimus come around the table to stand over Jazz. Jazz slowly went still as the Prime’s presence registered, his hand clamped to the side of his neck. Optimus looked down at him for an uncomfortably long period of time. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Everyone in the room felt the disappointment in his energy field.

                It was so much worse than anger.

                Finally, he reached down and grabbed Jazz’s wrist, hauling him to his feet. Once Jazz was stable, Optimus released him as if he couldn’t wait to break contact. Optimus then gestured for Prowl to take over and stepped back next to Red Alert. He absently reached out and placed a hand on the silently stricken Security Director’s shoulder, drawing him in close to his side.

                Prowl moved forward, his sensory panels rigidly outspread in what was very nearly an aggressive display. “To the brig, if you please, Jazz,” Prowl said, his voice clipped and hard. Ratchet had never seen Prowl look so stern and unforgiving.

                “I’m sorry,” Jazz rasped, still clutching his throat. “Prowler… Prime, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He turned and stared at Ratchet and Wheeljack, his face pleading. “Please, you gotta believe me, I’m sorry…”

                “Sorry’s not gonna be enough,” Ironhide rumbled. He brushed past Prowl and shoved Jazz in the chest, hard enough to make him stumble backwards. “Brig. Now.”

 

~ End


End file.
